Difference between revisions of "Logs:Fatherhood & Fostering"

"Everyone I spoke with said you were the person to see," not the Headwoman or one of her assistants, but Super Mom Madilla. G'laer shifts in the chair, easing his teacup from one hand to the other as he regards the Weyrhealer. "I'm to bring my twins here to the Weyr in hopes of giving them more options for their futures. Only, I've not been in their lives since they were younger than two and I'm not father material." He doesn't say this in the way some might, the unspoken plea for reassurance, but more as statement of proven fact. "But my sisters have convinced me to try to get to know them, or at least be available if they need something. That doesn't fulfill the role of parent, though. Or at least someone to look out for them while they make their way here and start their adult lives." It's explanation, but it doesn't yet make clear what he wants of the healer.

Super Mom Madilla, though it's fair to say that she'd probably argue the title to some extent, lifts her gaze from her own tea cup in order to consider G'laer, listening carefully to what he has to say. It's not clear from her expression what conclusions she's drawn already; instead, the draw of her mouth and the look in her eyes suggest both sympathy and acknowledgement. "It's a difficult thing," she murmurs, "to be uprooted from everything you know, and to go to a parent you're not familiar with. You'll have to tread a careful line with them. But," the corners of her mouth twist up, ever so slightly, "You're aware of that, I'm sure."

"I was their age when I left here for Crom." Surely this is the kind of comparison that should have occurred to him sooner, and yet there is briefly a look of realization on his face. "The thing is, I'm not certain they want to know me and I'm not certain it would be in their best interests for them to know me, but I am willing to give it a try." His eyes shift briefly to his tea and back in a way that suggests his continued misgivings about this course of action. "But I can't replace a real parent." Nevermind that he is the real parent. "They're twelve, so too old to foster properly, but they likely have a turn or two of still needing someone to keep an eye out and an ear open while they're living in the caverns and sorting what kind of job they'd like to do. They," the nebulous they, "said you might be able to help me find someone willing to do that. I can pay a small salary for their troubles."

"You can't force them to know you," Madilla agrees. "Or even to want anything to do with you." She's restrained in her words, and in her expression, too: she seems to be hovering on the edge of saying something, and perhaps it's not the thing she does, ultimately, say. "I can ask around. I'm sure the Headwoman keeps a list, but... it's more personal, of course, when it's someone you've spoken to. My Lilabet's only a little younger; I'll have her introduce herself." It's positive, but restrained, and now, slowly, her gaze drops back towards her cup.

"I don't intend to force them. I'm not even sure I want to be offering the chance, but--" But G'laer is, for whatever reasons he hasn't named. "Anyway, I'd appreciate that. I'd like them to have a positive experience in coming here, but they've never known anything except One Rock Hold and the family they come from has no love of dragonmen." This all adds up to a warning that they might be a bit of a handful. Then, a little awkwardly, "You wouldn't happen to have suggestions on how to go about offering to get to know them or how to relate to twelve turn olds, would you?"

Simply: "They'd resent you even more if you didn't offer them the chance." Madilla lets that stand alone, perhaps for emphasis, for a few moments, and then sets her cup down upon the low table the chairs are clustered about. "Be upfront with them," is the suggestion that follows. "They're not adults, but they're not that far off it: tell them the truth. At that age, they'll resent lies, if they sense them, and if they find out about them later..." She presses her lips together, glancing back towards G'laer. "Just take it slowly. Take an interest, if they're willing to share. Don't belabor the point that dragonriders are just normal people; they'll pick that up for themselves."

The simple nod answers the simple phrase: understood. He'll not argue the point. "When you say up front," G'laer starts slowly after a long moment, "Do you mean up front as in, 'things didn't work out between your mother and I, but it had nothing to do with you two,' or 'I couldn't handle marriage and twins at seventeen so I got out of there as fast as I could get a transfer'?" What degree of honesty should there be is probably what he's asking. How blunt. How honest. Especially when the truth is not pretty and probably would only feed whatever hatred or resentment they already have for the man that abandoned them before they were two and only showed up once a turn since.

Madilla gives G'laer a long glance before answering, her voice quiet and reflective. "There's a difference," she says, "between being honest and being blunt. I'm saying 'don't lie to them,' not 'tell them the whole, unvarnished truth.'"

G'laer's nod is little more than a tilt of his chin. "Thank you." The words are said but they lack the usual warmth in the eyes that often accompanies such an expression. The tea cup is placed carefully aside. "I appreciate your assistance in this, Weyrhealer." He rises, saying simply, "I won't keep you." It's not that he's trying to cut things short; it's just that the mission has been accomplished. Time to go!